


Sunrise

by purlieu



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8076526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purlieu/pseuds/purlieu
Summary: Two couriers, a nice view, and a new start.





	

Sunrise was a strange time in the Mojave. Spiritual, even, he caught Six mumbling as he squinted across the sand, moonlight falling into his lap like a particularly friendly animal. The courier had also remarked, a bit less softly, that sunrise was the time that chittering of nightstalkers stopped as they slunk away to their caves, and this was something that he’d thank the higher beings for anyways. 

They were sitting together, the two couriers, like it was meant to be. Six’s face was illuminated from below, amber light spilling from the mini-computer strapped to his arm as he squinted at the pixelated map. After a few swipes across the screen and a long moment of staring, he mumbled something that was no doubt a particularly offended curse and unceremoniously plopped his head onto Ulysses’ shoulder. Deep brown eyes shifted to track Six as he sighed loudly, breath a hot puff on Ulysses’ exposed arm. 

It's not sunrise yet, not even close. Only the cliff below them is close, and the cool breeze funneled from it closer. Six has let his hair down to let the wind flow through it, humming in appreciation even when it rolls his hair into unsatisfactory positions - cold air is a rarity in the Mojave, one anyone would take without a second thought. His hair’s been growing out ever since he left for the Sierra Madre, and it seemed he had no desire left in him to cut it.

Six is staring up at him with those deep amber eyes, set deep in his head and not quite piercing - yet something about them made even the ex-legionnaire want to avert himself, like staring straight into them would burn him from the inside out. 

The silence stretches for a moment before Six grunts, shifting his face out of the curve of Ulysses’ shoulder and towards the cliff. “Sorry. Jus’ thinkin’.” He puffs out another breath, this time through his broad, flat nose. He’s always been short of breath, huffing and puffing like a bighorner with a head cold and an attitude problem.

The burning eyes averted, tracing across the cracks and handholds of the cliff. Six seems to consider a moment - he is a slow speaker, undoubtedly his personal mantra is ‘think before you speak’, and his thoughts never seem to move as fast as his instincts. A rise, and a downfall - no personal consequences right away set him free in many ways, but also landed him in dicey situations. His slowness tended to disguise this primal instinct, but nothing could disguise how his rifle was like an extension of his arm, his ability to slip into a quick and silent crouch, ears cocked for the tiniest of sounds, fingers itchy on the trigger. He did, somehow, seem like the type of man that would survive a bullet straight to the head. Something burned within him, something kindled with the ashes of the old. A phoenix, perhaps.

“History does have a way of catching up with you, doesn't it.” Six says finally, eyes still trained on a depression in the canyon wall. He cracks a slow smile. “Damn, I sure hate when you're right with all that dramatic mumbo jumbo.”

Amusement simmers under Ulysses’ skin. “Could listen more often. Might serve you well.” He says airily, keeping his eyes trained on Six, the curve of his profile, the way his nose sticks out funny from the many times it’s been broken.

“Smartass.” Six pouted, but there was a tinge of laughter in his voice before he went silent again, looking out into the vague distance.

“Getting there isn't the hard part.” Six makes a face, switching to a mock deep accent, obviously quoting. “It's letting go.”

He doesn’t wait for Ulysses to question, just puckers his lips further and scowls a bit, setting the lines in his face deeper. “Thinkin’ about that god-damned casino again.” He says in lieu of a proper explanation, though he barely mentions the Sierra Madre past an occasional comment on the holorifle slung over his back.

“I don't… feel the same anymore. After that place. I don't know if I feel like me.” His eyes slide down further towards the canyon floor. “‘Least, that's what I thought. But I ain't really sure who ‘me’ is, actually. Somethin’ crawled out of that shallow grave in Goodsprings, but it sure as hell wasn't me.” 

“Being born again is a chance few have, Courier."

“Six,” He remarks absently, still set in trying to get Ulysses to say his actual name. “Shit, even that ain't me. I don't know my name, what I can call all… this.” 

Six continued, unable to wait for a response. "Dunno really, gotta say, I'm a little lost. Sure I'm Courier Six, savior of the NCR and all that happy brahminshit, but back at the Madre…” He swallowed, lips tightening as his voice sobered a bit. "It was terrifying, honestly. I felt weak. I was weak, choked by a damn bomb, fighting literal ghosts. It could’ve just... ended there. I woulda died a nobody, not Courier Six, just another ghost among ghosts. Guess that's what scared me most."

Six went silent for a long while after that, only moving to lean into Ulysses again - more heavily, like he needed an anchor. He probably does, with the way he's swaying about, fingers jittery at his side.

“Sure hate it when you're right.” Six mumbles again, but the arm he slings loosely around the other man’s waist isn't lost in the responding chuckle.

“Sunrise.” Ulysses says finally, after his slow laugh has died down to only a purr in his throat.

Six’s eyebrows draw together in a funny little crease as he looks up. “What?”

“Some call it a new beginning. New, unique experiences with every day that passes.” He says simply, neglecting any need to explain further.

Six almost pouts for a moment as he considers this before, slowly, the corners of his mouth draw up.

“Fair enough. So if I wanna totally get into a new persona, should I, like, get a new name? Is that what people do?” He was already rambling again, pep and zest creeping back into him as his fingers tap rhythmically against Ulysses’ side.

“Don't need a new name, Courier. Your change is yours to make.”

Six only laughed. “Don't be so dramatic. You're a master on changing your name to something else much cooler, _Ulysses_.” He emphasizes the last word, cheerful mocking in his voice.

Ulysses inclines an eyebrow, not taking the bait. “Would you really change it, Six?”

Six’s euphoria at having his name said by that sweet, deep baritone is rudely interrupted by the dawning realization that Ulysses is right again. “Aw, hell. Guess I couldn't let down all the _adoring fans_ of Courier Six.” He shoots a half-lidded look at Ulysses, sly grin in place despite having been proven wrong.

They let the silence take reign again, but something has been lifted. It echoes in Six’s soft sigh, in the warmer feeling to air, and finally, finally, in the returning movement of Ulysses as he pulls Six just a hair closer.

In time the moment is broken. The sun rises. Things move on. This moment specifically, moving on as Six pulls out his rifle, the extension of his arm, and fires. Once. Twice. A feral ghoul falls in the far distance. Six turns to grin at him, morning light playing through his hair.

A new beginning, huh.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't trust much in my skill of writing ulysses but this relationship is so important to me... again i haven't picked up writing for a while and really just wanted to get this out there so please take this incredibly fake deep fic with a grain of salt lmao


End file.
